To Conquer a Heart
by The Never Scribe
Summary: A Hetalia version of Beauty and the Beast: To escape an unwanted marriage, Matthieu runs away from his home, only to find himself in an enchanted castle filled with living furniture, mysterious stories and a terrifying, cursed beast. However, there is much more to this castle, and its occupants, that meets the eye. - Offically on hiatus as of 23/06/2016 because of writers' block -
1. Prologue

**DISCLAIMER: This story and some characters in it are based on the 1991 movie _Beauty and the Beast_. I do not own this movie; all rights and credit goes to Disney. The characters in this story belong to the anime and manga Hetalia, written/drawn by Hidekaz Himaruya. Once again, I own nothing, all credits and rights go to him.**

* * *

Once upon a time, there stood a magnificent castle, with sturdy towers rising into the sky, impenetrable walls guarding it, and inside, the beauty and elegance of a heavenly hall. In this castle lived a powerful warrior king, King Aldrich. Despite his military might, however, he remained peaceful and neutral, defending only when attacked.

King Aldrich had two sons, Prince Gilbert and Prince Ludwig. They were a happy family, and their happiness was infectious. They were loved by their servants, their people, everyone.

Then one day, disaster struck.

The castle was attacked by the occupants of a nearby village, a foolhardy attempt by their mayor to capture the castle, and therefore, the kingdom, for himself. The battle was won; King Aldrich was victorious.

However, in the melee, he had suffered a mortal wound to his heart. His death the next day devastated the entire kingdom, leaving the next in line, Prince Gilbert, all of twenty-one years of age, as the heir to the throne. Enraged and grieving over his beloved father's death, the prince rode out of the castle and single-handedly waged war on the village. It is said that no day has seen destruction like that day. Apt at combat from a young age, the prince was second in might to no man in the land. Houses burned, blood watered the earth, people cried out for mercy, only to be struck down.

The prince was unmovable, undefeatable, unstoppable.

Finally, the last villager cried out for help with his dying breath; to anyone, anyone who could stop this monster from causing any more devastation. As his life force diminished, as the prince stood over his lifeless body, surveying with malicious satisfaction the work he had done, the answer to the fallen man's call appeared. A powerful enchantress, the protector of the land, emerged, looking over the remains of the village in grief. She turned her gaze to the wrathful prince, who drew his sword, the madness of a berserker coursing through his veins. The prince simply sneered, unafraid of the enchantress' power.

The enchantress, however, was as fair and just as she was powerful. She saw the grief the prince was in, and the pain that had caused him to lash out against others, and she waved her hand, calming his rage. The prince's eyes were opened, and he saw the damage he had done, the ruin he had caused, the lives he had taken. At the sight, he fell to the floor weeping in shock and horror.

He cried out apologies, begged for mercy, but the fair enchantress stood as firm and unwavering as a mountain, ignoring his pleas. "Justice will be done." The enchantress cast a spell on the prince, transforming him into a hideous beast. His hands turned to paws, his silver hair spread across his body to form a thick hide of fur, and his once handsome features twisted to form a grotesque animal-like face.

She pulled out an intricately carved magic mirror and gave it to him to show him what had become of him. The prince stared at his mangled reflection in horror, unable to speak. "Now you see yourself as the people you killed saw you; a hideous beast, a bringer of destruction and war. This is your punishment, and your curse."

When the prince knelt at the enchantress' feet, abandoned all his pride and began to beg, the enchantress saw that there was true regret in his eyes. She softened and told him, "I will grant you three boons, to ease your burden."

"The first: you shall not be alone in your castle. Your friends and your servants shall remain with you, to aid you and keep your company. However, like you, they will no longer be human, and none of your shall be able to leave the castle grounds.

"The second: you shall choose any gift from me, provided that I deem it acceptable." The prince, with no hesitation, begged her to restore every life he had taken. The enchantress, touched, agreed, and additionally said, "Though your wicked deed will be forgotten, so will you, and your kingdom lost. None shall remember but the occupants of your castle.

"The third: I shall allow you one way to break your curse. It is all too easy to conquer a village, or even a kingdom. These are fickle things." Then she gave him a rose, as pure a shade of white as the snow, and told him, "If, before ten years from this day, when this rose wilts, you have managed to conquer a stranger's heart, for those are far more precious, the curse shall be lifted and you shall be freed."

With these words, the enchantress disappeared, and the village was restored.

The prince fled, taking with him the magic mirror and the rose, returning to his castle to wait for the stranger whose heart he was to conquer, and long for the day he would be human once more./em/p

* * *

 **Hey guys,**

 **Thank you for reading!**

 **First of all, I'd like to tell you that this story is still very much in progress, so I will definitely be editing and rewriting to correct mistakes and improve my writing style.**

 **Secondly, I appreciate constructive criticism, so feel free to leave a review telling me what you've thought. I would love it if you could tell me exactly what you enjoyed and what you found fault with, though, because hate messages aren't exactly helpful -_-**

 **Lastly, this isn't the old owner of this account! I'm still using the name Finch, but the old owner, a friend of mine, decided that she would rather work on her own stories instead of fanfiction. So hi, nice to meet you!**

 **Thanks again guys, I'll try to update soon!**

 **\- Cass**

 **EDIT: Thank you so much to the reviewers who told me about that code error thing, I've fixed the problem now (yay!) and hopefully it won't happen again. I should probably warn you that this is my first time using , so there will probably be more errors and editing mistakes in the future, but I'll do my best to avoid them :) also thank you that one guest reviewer who warned me not to use Disney lyrics and make it too similar to the movie - I was actually going to use some lyrics from Belle, but I've changed that now ahahaha. I'd like to clarify; the actual story is going to be quite different from the movie (1991 haven't seen the live action one yet) but the reason I made this a crossover fic is because I'm making some characters in the fanfic very similar to the ones in the movie (e.g. Lumiere, Cogsworth, Mrs. Potts etc.)**


	2. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: This story and some characters in it are based on the 1991 movie _Beauty and the Beast_. I do not own this movie; all rights and credit goes to Disney. The characters in this story belong to the anime and manga Hetalia, written/drawn by Hidekaz Himaruya. Once again, I own nothing, all credits and rights go to him.**

* * *

It was a winter's morning, snow falling gently onto the streets of the little town. Everyone was going about their daily lives, chattering to each other, all wrapped up in their snug warm coats and furry boots.

From a little house by the baker's emerged a young man by the name of Matthieu Williams, snugly fitted into a thick winter coat, a little pouch of gold for the daily shopping in one hand and a large basket in the other, looking excitedly around at the snowy winter scene.

"Good day, young Matthieu!" greeted a cheery old woman from next door, laying out her laundry to dry.

"Good day, ma'am!" called Matthieu, sending her a bright smile and waving. The old woman smiled and busied herself with the washing. Matthieu turned back to his path.

He looked over to the right. A short, squat, bumbling man lurched around outside his shop trying to sell his goods from a tray of various breads and pastries that was far too big for him.

"Ah! Good morning, Matthieu!" called the man, noticing him through the pile of pastry.

"Good morning, sir," replied Matthieu, hurrying over to him. "Can I help you with that? It looks a little hard to carry-"

"No, no, my boy," insisted the baker. "Lovely of you to offer, but I can handle this. Can I interest you in a fresh loaf of bread? Perhaps a baguette? They're only four silver coins."

"A baguette would be lovely, please," Matthieu replied, fishing into the pouch. "Four silvers, eh?"

The baker winked, balancing the tray precariously on the windowsill of his shop. "For Alfred's brother, I can do one silver – if you'll bring me a good cut of whatever you two sell next before you take it to the butcher."

"Deal," agreed Matthieu, wincing internally at the use of 'Alfred's brother'. Would he always just be known as 'Alfred's brother'? He handed over a silver coin and grabbed a baguette. "Thank you, sir!"

"No problem." The baker took up his tray once more, beginning his rounds again, leaving Matthieu to continue with his shopping. He continued through the streets. He heard some murmuring coming from behind him, but he just ignored it, wishing he could just shrink into his jacket and be invisible. He knew what they were saying; the same thing that he always did.

'Is that Alfred?'

'No, it's Alfred's twin brother. His name's Matthieu, I think.'

'Oh. Is he a hunter too?'

'No, he's nothing like his brother. Quiet type, you know, he'd much rather skate around on that lake of his than hunt. Sweet boy, though.'

'That's a shame. Pity the talent doesn't run in the family.'

He heard a familiar clanking and a shouting coming from inside the metalsmith's and he smiled. He knocked on the door and entered the little forge. Inside were two of his closest friends, Berwald and Tina Oxenstierna.

Berwald was clanging away at a sword and Tina, in the back of the forge, was attempting to convince their adopted son to eat his breakfast of a slice of bread and a few vegetables. She turned his attention to Matthieu and smiled. "Good morning, Matthieu! Any particular reason for today's visit?" Berwald grunted a greeting, not even looking up from his work.

"Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Oxenstierna!" Tino raised an eyebrow, waving a spoon warningly and Matthieu hastily amended his statement. "Uh, Tina and Berwald. Hello, Peter!"

He waved at the little boy, who opened his mouth, saying, "Morning, Matthi- ugh!" Tina had taken the opportunity to stuff a piece of bread and some carrot into the poor boy's mouth. He moaned loudly in complaint, before grumpily chewing the food and swallowing it.

Matthieu hid a chuckle behind his gloved hand. "Sorry, Peter."

"Don't be," ordered Tina, smacking Peter gently on the head with the spoon. "He needs to learn to eat his vegetables. Now, Matthieu, any reason for your visit today?"

He nodded. "I checked the lake yesterday, and it seems ready for skating. I was wondering if I could borrow your skates again to go this evening, Tina?"

Tina shook her head lightly, laughing. "Heavens, Matthieu, you use those more often than I do."

Berwald spoke up, pausing his steady rhythm of hammering for a moment. "Why don't we j'st give 'em to 'im?"

Matthieu gasped, shaking his head. "But Berwald, I couldn't!"

"That's an excellent idea, darling!" interrupted Tina, looking delighted. "They're practically yours anyway, Matthieu, I insist." She rushed into the back of the shop, pulling a pair of old ice skates and handing them to Matthieu, ignoring his protests. The woman winked at him cheerfully. "Think of them as an early Christmas present."

Matthieu smiled, big, bright and overjoyed. "Thank you so much!" He hugged Tina, and hesitantly, Berwald as well.

"No pr'blem," muttered Berwald, looking down, slightly embarrassed.

Tina just giggled at Matthieu's happiness. "Have fun, Matthieu!"

"Thank you!" Matthieu called, practically prancing out of the door to go back home, grinning ear-to-ear. He skipped through the streets, attracting even more strange looks, but he didn't care. _My very own pair of skates! Wait until I tell Alfred!_

In his haste, he didn't even notice a pair of people he usually dreaded seeing: Ivan Braginsky and his sister, Katyusha. "Look, there, Katyusha!" cooed Ivan, pointing at the distracted boy. "The lucky man you're going to marry!"

Katyusha winced, shrinking into her dress. "But, Ivan, he already told us he wasn't interested."

A few weeks ago, Katyusha, who had been quite in love with the shy man who came to the Braginsky farm every few days to sell his brother's kills to her own brother, had told her brother of her infatuation.

She had regretted it.

Upon finding out, Ivan had immediately paid a terrified Matthieu and a disgruntled Alfred a visit, insisting that Matthieu begin courting his sister immediately. Matthieu had been far too shocked to even say anything, and Alfred, who was not on the best terms with the farmer anyway, had shouted at him to leave his brother alone and get out of the house.

Since then, Ivan had been plotting on a way to interest his sister's preferred man in marriage with her. He had good intentions, as Katyusha constantly reminded herself through her guilt at putting Matthieu through the whole ordeal. He just wasn't very good at taking no for an answer, not to mention that he didn't seem to understand the concept of subtlety.

However, what neither of the two had known was that Matthieu, in fact, was not only romantically uninterested in Katyusha, but romantically uninterested in all women, something only his closest friends and his brother were aware of. The village was generally accepting of people who were different, and the villagers were fond of Matthieu anyway, but he still felt uncomfortable with letting people know of this fact.

"Do not worry, sister," reassured Ivan, smiling maliciously. "I shall soon find a way to make him realise that you are the woman he wants. The boy must be insane, but we will fix that. You deserve to be with the one you love, do you not?"

"Well, yes, and thank you, Ivan, but-" stuttered the meek girl weakly.

"Exactly," interrupted Ivan, slipping her arm through his. "So we shall figure something out, yes? And we will not invite his brother to the wedding. After all, he was the one who interfered." Ivan's expression took on a dark tone at the mere thought of Alfred.

"Ivan," pleaded the unwilling Katyusha, but he had already grabbed her arm and started off down the street, pushing through the crowd of chattering people and shouting vendors in an attempt to speak to Matthieu.

Katyusha sighed. She loved Matthieu, it was true, but she didn't want to be him to be trapped in a marriage where he didn't love her; nor her to be trapped in one where she was not loved.

Ivan hissed in frustration as he couldn't reach the boy through the mass of people. "That's okay, dear sister," he mumbled, smiling at her comfortingly. "No man alive can resist your charm. I shall attempt to go and talk to them this evening, yes?"

Katyusha opened her mouth to protest, before sighing in defeat. "Yes, Ivan."

Matthieu, up ahead, steadily skirting around the villagers to get back home. He had stopped to buy the next few days' food, his basket now filled with vegetables and various other foodstuffs that bounced as he walked. The skates were firmly packed into the side, where he constantly checked on them to ensure they hadn't fallen, or God forbid, been stolen.

As he pushed through the chattering crowd, he heard even more muttering coming from behind him. He bit the inside of his cheek, unable to help a twinge of anger. He hated being in Alfred's shadow and being compared to all of his achievements. Alfred couldn't help it; he was a good brother, and he never encouraged any of the villagers' behaviour, but it never helped.

He hastened his steps and hurried home. The faster the better.

.

"Mattie, you're back!" called Alfred excitedly, hearing the door open and shut as Matthieu stepped into the house, wiping his boots on the old rug. "Guess what? I was out in the woods getting firewood, and thank the heavens I had my rifle with me, because there was this furry, fat fox and brother, we've gotten lucky this winter, because it's in perfect condition for skinning! Can you believe the coincidence? I bet we can sell it for a pretty price in town. The mayor's wife would kill to have a scarf made of real fox fur; although thank God she doesn't, or we'd be out of a job, huh, Mattie?"

Matthieu blinked as he was bombarded with words, taking a second to process all he had heard. The news about his ice skates paled in comparison to Alfred's fox. "That's amazing, Al!" he exclaimed, still excited. It was rare they managed to get a good fox fur; people loved them, but foxes were hard to get a clean shot at, according to Alfred. He rounded the corner of the doorway, coming face to face with a sight that, despite its familiarity, was just as disturbing as always.

A dirt and twig covered Alfred, complete with an assortment of leaves sticking out of his hair, back from the woods after his impromptu hunting trip, a massive bundle of fresh firewood stored messily by the fireplace and a carcass – in this case, the fox's – draped over a rack by the window. He wrinkled his nose at the smell it was emitting and groaned at the trail of muddy footprints leading from the door to the living room. _I'll ignore it. Just this once._

"Anything interesting happen with you, Mattie?" inquired Alfred, who didn't seem to have heard the groan.

"Yeah, actually." Matthieu pulled out his skates and waved them at Alfred excitedly. "I caught a prize of my own. Tina gave them to me."

Alfred grinned widely, genuinely happy for his brother. "Hey, that's awesome. I know how much you loved those things. Still, how about grabbing a different kind of blade and helping me skin this thing before it starts stinking up the house?"

Matthieu nodded, hurrying to his room to leave the skates and the jacket in there before returning to help Alfred carry the fox outside and begin skinning it. He grabbed the blade and they began slowly slicing the hide off together, Matthieu wincing slightly, Alfred unfazed. "So," he began, "are we expecting Sakura today?" Alfred nodded, a slightly goofy smile appearing on his face at the thought. His brother chuckled at it. "When?"

"This evening," he replied dreamily, drifting off into his thoughts for a moment before returning to the dead fox.

Sakura Honda, sweet, precious daughter of Yao Honda, a wealthy trader who had decided to settle down in this little town; she and Alfred were sickeningly in love, and she frequented the Jones-Williams home whenever she could get out from under her father's watchful eye.

The only hitch in the romance was her fiancé.

Yao Honda had arranged a marriage between a trading partner of his, a young Turk dealing in textiles, and Sakura, who hated the whole idea. Of course, being the dutiful, honourable daughter she was, she had gracefully gone along with the whole thing, hiding her true feelings. It had taken every ounce of Alfred's charm to convince her to keep meeting him in secret, with the promise that he would eventually talk to her father and sort the whole thing out.

Still, despite how happy they were now even with their circumstances, Matthieu couldn't help but be worried. Sakura's wedding was in no less than two weeks. Alfred didn't have very long to gain Yao's approval, and so far, he hadn't shown any signs of taking action on the task.

"That works out well," commented Matthieu. "I was planning on going skating this evening. You two can have some alone time. And, Alfred?"

"Hmm?"

He wasn't sure whether to broach the topic or not. His twin could get… touchy when Sakura's wedding was mentioned. It upset him, for good reason, and he tended to lash out. _I have to. It's for their good, he needs to realise how urgent it is._ "Do you have a plan?" he asked tentatively. "For, you know, courting Sakura? Openly?"

Alfred's cheerful expression disappeared. "I'll deal with that later."

"That's what you've said for the past two months," Matthieu insisted. "You don't have much time, Alfred, if you wait too long, you could lose her."

"Matthieu, stop." Alfred's voice cracked, and Matthieu stopped what he was doing to stare at him in shock. He was truly distraught, bottom lip trembling as he meticulously slid his knife under the hide of the carcass.

"Alfred," Matthieu said gently, "I didn't mean to upset you, I just-" Suddenly, he came to a realisation, staring at Alfred in horror. "You haven't given up?"

And Alfred was back.

He lifted his head and tossed back his hair, grinning confidently. "Of course not! Don't worry, Mattie, I'm going to impress him so much he'll never want to even _see_ that Sadiq guy again."

Matthieu raised an unconvinced eyebrow, but half-smiled. "Well, if anyone can do it, it's you, Al. I know you can; besides, Sakura loves you more than anyone else, and any good father would let her marry the person she loves."

Alfred gave his brother a smile, genuinely thankful this time. "Thanks, Mattie. Anyways, so guess what else happened in the woods this morning?"

"What?"

"Okay, so I went in, and I had my rifle, and there was this massive…"

.

A few hours later, the fox's hide had been laid out to dry and applied with the proper substances to preserve it. Its meat was lying in a barrel of salt water to be tenderised and cooked the next day. Alfred was reclining, now clean, on a chair, feet up on the dinner table, absorbed in some adventure book or other. Matthieu was resting on the couch, warming himself in front of the hearth, when he heard a tentative knock at the door.

He threw one of his gloves at Alfred to pull him out of his book-induced trance. "Hey, Al, your lover's here."

Alfred snapped his head up, very much resembling an excited puppy, Matthieu's glove still resting peacefully on his shoulder. He grabbed the little piece of clothing and threw it back at his brother and rushed to the door, still clutching his book, to welcome Sakura.

Matthieu shook his head, laughing softly and slipping his hand back into the glove. He could hear Alfred's loud greetings, warmly welcoming Sakura as always, and the girl's quieter, more nervous tones, as the two entered the room. Matthieu stood up, nodding his head and smiling in greeting. "Hello, Sakura."

She gave him a small smile in return; she liked Alfred's brother, he was courteous to her, and very sweet. "Good evening, Matthieu." This evening, she was dressed in a pale pink silk dress, a traditional outfit from her home country of Japan, her hair immaculately combed and a simple necklace hanging around her neck.

Matthieu grabbed the little bag containing his ice skates and made his way to the door, putting on one of Alfred's thick hunting coats – his own coat had gotten wet earlier that day and wasn't dry yet – and slinging the bag over his shoulder. "Well, I hate to leave so soon, but I was planning on going skating. Still, I'm sure you two can keep each other company. I might see you later on. Have a nice time!"

Alfred waved him goodbye. "See you later, Mattie!" Sakura gave him a shy wave, before turning back to Alfred. Matthieu cast one more look at the loving couple and exited the house, putting his hood up to shelter his head, hurrying through the crisp snow on the town's streets towards the lake.

.

Ivan, meanwhile, had dropped his sister back at the farm after their trip here, before electing to come back to the village, simply hoping to run into Matthieu. Perhaps he would go out on an evening walk? Or maybe come out to sell some of his brother's kills?

While loitering around the alleys, he spotted a familiar figure, in a familiar coat.

 _That is Alfred! He must be going out on a hunting trip. Oh! While he is not home, I can talk some sense into that Matthieu. How wonderful!_ Gleefully, Ivan snuck unobtrusively past the figure he believed to be Alfred and made his own way to pay a visit to the Jones-Williams home. He eagerly hurried towards the little cottage, scarf and coat flapping about him as he neared it.

As he approached, he could hear voices: one masculine and the other light, nervous and decidedly female.

Ivan could feel anger and outrage bubbling up inside his chest, fiery and hot, signalling danger for anyone around him.

That insolent bastard Matthieu had rejected his sister for this woman? A substandard, immoral whore, no doubt. No one was as beautiful as Katyusha – this was an insult, a low, cheap shot against her, and by extension, to him; and he would not take it lightly.

And then, the words flowing out of an open window that changed Ivan's entire perspective of the entire situation and brought a delighted smile to his face and a malicious twinkle to his eye:

"I love you, Alfred."

"I love you too, Sakura."

 _So it was not Alfred I saw; it does not matter. Sakura!_ he thought gleefully. The daughter of the wealthiest trader in town, and one of the strictest men around; this was perfect! _An unlawful relationship, one that would be forbidden if it was found out, and Alfred's reputation ruined. And there's nothing Matthieu loves more than his brother... if I threaten him using that idiot, then he will gladly marry my Katyusha._

Ivan decided to wait, picking a sheltered spot beneath the window to see what other interesting titbits he could pick up – not only would this make Katyusha happy, but he got to spite Alfred as well!

.

Later that evening, Matthieu returned from his skating, breathless and covering in little shavings of ice. His eyes were sparkling, cheeks rosy with delight as he rushed out of the woods, high on the freeing sensation of gliding across the ice, twirling and spinning, with no one but himself around to see – finally, something that wasn't 'Alfred's brother', something truly 'Matthieu'.

As he cleared the last patch of trees, hurrying along the path to his house before darkness fell, he was greeted with an ominous sight.

A tall figure, wrapped in his trademark heavy, dirt-stained coat, pale pink scarf swirling in the wind and a smile that sent cold shivers down Matthieu's back, despite his warm coat: Ivan Braginsky. _What's he doing here?_

He was standing at the door, seemingly waiting for Matthieu who approached him warily. "Good evening, Mr. Braginsky," he greeted, nervously trying to sidestep him and get to the front door, but the man seemed to move without moving to block his path.

"Hello, Matthieu," replied Ivan happily. "You have some good timing, comrade. I wanted to talk to you and your brother."

"O-oh, okay." Matthieu looked pointedly at the door. Ivan took the hint this time, letting him pass, the creepy, ever-present smile never faltering. Matthieu knocked, silently praying that Sakura had already left. "Al, there's a visitor!" he called, just in case she hadn't and they needed a warning. He heard footsteps and the door opened, revealing a cheerful Alfred, whose smile was instantly replaced with a glare at the sight of Ivan.

"What do you want, Braginsky?" he demanded angrily, grabbing Matthieu's arm and pulling him into the house protectively.

"I wanted to talk to you two about my sister, Jones." Ivan's smile was still there; Matthieu was starting to feel extremely uneasy. The farmer was usually all glared around Alfred, and vice versa. Something was wrong.

Alfred has noticed it too, and there was a glint of worry in his eyes, but he kept up the fierce demeanour he was giving the ma. "We've already told you, no. Mattie isn't marrying someone he doesn't love just for your happiness. Get lost." He moved the close the door, only to find Ivan's foot in the way. "Hey!" exclaimed the hunter angrily. "Listen here, you-"

"I also," interrupted Ivan, smiling directly at Alfred, "wanted to know. How is Sakura doing?"

.

The blood seemed to drain out of Alfred as a heavy feeling of horror settled in the pit of his stomach. His jaw hung open, eyes wide with terror, face as white as a sheet. His grip on the door loosened and Ivan took the opportunity to swing it open and let himself in. "Is something wrong, Alfred?" he asked sweetly. "I am sure you know the answer, given that you two know each other so intimately."

Matthieu, in the meantime, had been watching the exchange in terror for his brother, his hand flying to his mouth. _How…?_

Alfred seemed unable to speak, leaning in the doorway, looking faint. Matthieu noticed, hurrying over to his brother immediately, shutting the door, and placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Alfred?" he whispered. "Alfred, don't worry, it's fine, everything is fine."

Ivan let out a little giggle. "Worried? Do not be concerned, Jones. Your brother is right. Everything is fine. That is, of course, if you agree to do what I say."

Alfred seemed to recover a little, eyes slightly wet, but otherwise showing no signs of his earlier helpless fear. "How much do you know?" he demanded, voice trembling.

"You have been seeing each other for two months. You both love adventure books. Last week, you kissed her for the first time. She has met the Turk, and she hates him, but she does not want to disappoint her family. You are planning to tell her father about this little affair soon, and you plan on marrying her with his blessing," recited Ivan, tone growing more and more smug by the word. "She wants to be with you, and you want to be with her. You love each other. How sweet."

"Ivan, please," pleaded Matthieu, seeing Alfred's eyes widen and a strangled noise escape his throat. "Don't do anything reckless, please, not because of what happened with Katyusha and me, we can talk, this is a misunderstanding-"

"See, Alfred?" interjected the farmer. "Your brother is sensible. We shall negotiate. After all, there is only one thing that I want."

Alfred belatedly came to the realisation, far after the other two did. "No!" he protested fiercely, all fear forgotten. "You can't have Matthieu. Never. I won't let you, you bastard, he doesn't want your sister-"

"Matthieu," Ivan stated slowly, turning to the man in question and blocking out the protests. "Your brother is in love. He is happy. I could ruin that for him. One slip of the tongue-"

"Mattie, no, don't listen to him-"

"-and his relationship is ruined. And you will have to live with the knowledge that it is all _your_ fault."

"-he's playing with your mind, it's not your fault, Mattie, I don't blame you-"

"My sister. _She_ loves _you_. She is sweet and gentle and has never hurt anyone in her life, and you, Matthieu, have hurt her."

"You didn't mean to, Mattie, it's not your fault you don't love her."

"If you refuse to marry her, she will continue in her sadness. Your brother and Sakura will never be together."

"This is blackmail, Braginsky, my brother isn't responsible for any of these things, and he won't-"

"Why not just agree? Everyone will be happy, and so will you. She is a lovely woman, and she will make you an excellent wife."

"-marry her! Mattie, please, tell me you're not listening to him. Mattie. Please."

"What do you say, Matthieu?"

"Please, Mattie, don't do it. We'll figure out a way, there has to be a way."

The world was spinning. Ivan's voice and Alfred's swirling together as Matthieu stood, a flurry of emotions inside him, a tormenting conflict – which was the best choice?

He wanted happiness. He wanted, someday, to find love on his own. Someone who truly appreciated him for who he was, and someone who he could love with all of his heart. A man, a prince of his own, like the kind the characters in Alfred's books always managed to fall in love with.

Alfred…

Matthieu was his brother.

He had been there when Alfred had first come home, telling him about 'the most beautiful girl in the world, Mattie', his tone dreamy, for once, instead of the usual brash excitement.

He had been there when they had begun the romance, the yells of joy, the toasts of victory in the local tavern, the crushing bear hug and the whispered, 'I'm the happiest man in the world right now, Mattie'.

He had been there, just two months ago, when Alfred had broken down crying in his arms, for the first time since they were children, body wracked with sobs, smelling like cheap liquor, because 'she's engaged now, Mattie, there's no hope for us anymore'.

He had been there for the determination that followed soon after, the romantic, chivalrous acts in an attempt at wooing her once more. 'I'm not giving up on her that easily, Mattie. Now come on, help me carry these flowers.'

He had been there for that first, tentative visit, a scared, nervous Sakura and an unusually shy and sensitive Alfred, and he had witness that persevering spark, the true once-in-a-lifetime connection in Alfred's books. 'I love her, Mattie. I love her so much.'

What would Alfred think of his Mattie when Sakura was gone from his life?

Matthieu wasn't fooling himself – if Yao found out about the deception from someone other than his own daughter and Alfred, that was the end of their relationship. Ivan wasn't exaggerating; he held their love in between his fingertips, threatening to crush it with the slightest provocation.

Katyusha…

She wasn't that bad. She was actually sweet, unlike her brother. Matthieu had talked to her occasionally, and she was alright.

He didn't feel a thing for her, and the marriage would destroy his chances of true love, but did that chance even exist?

Would someone – another man – really come into his life the way Sakura had into Alfred's?

Perhaps Ivan was right. At least this way he would live comfortably, and everyone else would be happy. Who knows? Maybe he would too.

He glanced at Alfred. His eyes were pleading with Matthieu, the same conflict mirrored in them that was in Matthieu at that moment. I'm sorry, Al.

He turned back to Ivan. "Yes," he said quietly, the word rolling over his tongue easily. "I'll marry Katyusha."

"Mattie…" whispered Alfred.

Ivan smiled, victorious. "I knew you would come to your senses. My sister will be delighted. Well, there is no need to delay; the wedding will be tomorrow – I know someone who will be willing to conduct it. And do not worry; no one will find out about your brother and the trader's daughter. It shall be our secret." The farmer stepped back; his work was done. He opened the door and left the house, only turning back to wave cheerfully. "Have a good night, and congratulations on your engagement!"

.

"Why did you do that?" demanded Alfred furiously, head in his hands as he leaned forward on the couch. "Mattie, I'm not going to let you marry her, you deserve to find the right person as much as I do!"

"Just leave it, Al," sighed Matthieu, sitting still and leaning back into the soft cushion. "It isn't that bad, honestly, I'm fine with it." The decision still hadn't sunk in. _I'm… I'm getting married tomorrow…_ It seemed unreal.

"I'm not!" he yelled in frustration. "Damn it, Matthieu, you need to stop thinking about others and think about yourself for once! Do you know what you just did?! You're letting others use you!"

Matthieu felt a rush of heat in his chest and he stood up angrily. "Listen, Alfred, I made that decision on my own, because it's the best for everyone involved. Everyone, including me. Let up, would you? I'm not your baby brother, hell, I'm three minutes older than you! Be thankful. Just…" He felt all the energy drain out of him, and he saw Alfred's startled, hurt face and crumbled. "Oh, God, Al, I'm so sorry, I just… I'm just tired. I'm going to go get some rest. Good night."

"Mattie-"

"Good night, Al."

.

Later that night, Matthew stayed awake, all the events of the day running through his mind.

Specifically, one phrase kept repeating itself over and over, until Matthieu couldn't ignore it:

 _'Damn it, Matthieu, you need to stop thinking about others and think about yourself for once!'_

Perhaps Alfred was right.

Perhaps there was another way.

.

 _'Dear Alfred,_

 _I decided to take your advice. I might not see you for a while. I'm travelling away. You were right; I don't deserve to marry Katyusha. She's sweet, but I want love. I want to know how it feels to love someone._

 _Tomorrow, I want you to go straight to Yao. Get to him before Ivan can. Go convince him, Al. I know you can. I have faith in you, and so does Sakura._

 _I'll try to get back in time for your wedding. Until then, I'll miss you._

 _Love,_

 _Mattie'_

That was what the letter said; the one he had left on his bed before he packed the essentials, some clothes, some food, a thick blanket. His new skates, for old memories – besides, he couldn't bear to leave them behind.

He stood, the night air cold around him, facing the woods. He took in a deep breath, glanced back at the little village, and at his little cottage, his home, his brother.

He looked at the tall mass of trees, looming ominously above him, beckoning him towards them, and began his journey.

* * *

 **Hey guys! So I was away for four days on a little holiday and I managed to finish writing and upload this at 2 am the night before I left, so I apologise if there are any grammatical or spelling errors. I got back two days ago (?) and I've only just had the time to write this little A/N to let you guys know, and do the disclaimer.**

 **Thank you for all your kind reviews! I nearly melted omg I did that thing that HRE did where he rolled around on the bed clutching his pillow.**

 **I'm sad to inform you guys that I'm having a little bit of writer's block - I'm currently halfway through the next chapter with no idea what to do next ;-; I'll try to get it done asap tho.**

 **Thank you for your patience, and feel free to leave reviews telling me what you thought (constructive criticism is appreciated, but please tell me exactly what the problem was bc hate reviews aren't helpful) because I love reading them!  
**

 **\- Cass**


	3. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: This story and some characters in it are based on the 1991 movie _Beauty and the Beast_. I do not own this movie; all rights and credit goes to Disney. The characters in this story belong to the anime and manga Hetalia, written/drawn by Hidekaz Himaruya. Once again, I own nothing, all credits and rights go to him.**

* * *

It was cold.

The chilld were seeping through Matthieu's coat and into his bones. The wind shrieked as it tore through the trees, ripping Matthieu's hood off his head and sending his hair whipping into his face. Still, he stumbled forward, determinedly holding his lantern aloft and replacing his hood with his other hand.

He had been travelling for hours, pack weighing him down and feet dragging in the thick, unyielding snow.

The first hour or two had been fine. Light snow, friendly, familiar woods that he knew like the back of his hand after living near them for five years. Spurred on by the heat of his spontaneous decision and the forbidden thrill that came with this adventure, he had made quick progress.

Then, the environment had changed. The very air itself seemed different, eerie. It set Matthieu's nerves on edge, a tingling feeling creeping through his whole body.

There was something very, very wrong about this forest.

Still, he kept going, deeper and deeper into the dense collection of looming trees and heavy snow. The air was beginning to get thick with fog, clouding Matthieu's glasses. After a few stops, he gave up and decided to just leave them in his pack. He could barely see without them, but even if he could, it wouldn't have mattered. The dim glow of his lantern was the only thing managing to keep him on the path, a thin line of trampled weeds that was barely even there.

Matthieu refused to give in to despair or weariness. This was his moment - his chance for adventure, for freedom, to truly act on what _he_ wanted and be independent of others' wishes. He would keep going until Death himself was sent to stop him. _I don't think anyone from our village has been out this far into the woods... who knows? Maybe I could discover something new?_ At this point, he was just attempting to distract himself from the situation, trudging onwards. _Or maybe I could find some good hunting spots for Alfred? He does need-_

And then a sound came, ringing loud and clear through the trees, that stopped both Matthieu and his thoughts in their tracks, frozen for one panic-stricken moment in the snow:

A howl.

The piercing cry was soon joined by many others like it. One, two, three, too many to count. A pack of wolves, wild, powerful and above all, _hungry_.

At the brief, deafening silence between the first round of howls and the next, Matthieu's brain sprung into action.

 _Wolves._

 _Predators._

 _Deadly._

 _Hungry._

 _Run._

He sprinted forward, gasping for breaath and stumbling over roots, crashing into branches and leaves, thorns scratching his hands and tearing his coat, vines tangling around his feet as if the forest wanted him to be caught and eaten by the ferocious beasts. Tears welled up in his eyes as the pain burned in his lungs, cuts and grazes stinging like needles; the howling growing ever closer, ever louder, ever clearer.

 _Please, please, someone save me, let here be a town, a house, anything, please, I don't want to die, not here, not now, please-_

A thought came to his panicked mind, a saving grace cutting through the chaos, a beam of light in a void of darkness: there was a hunting knife in his pack.

Clumsily, without slowing his pace, Matthieu let go of his hood and reached into the pack, pulling out the big, wicked knife, gleaming in the lantern's light.

The fog was closing in, getting thicker. It was hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to move - the snow and ice was grabbing at his boots, his legs were getting heavier.

A gust of wind.

A fatal gust of wind.

The fire in the lantern died. Matthieu was blind, the darkness and fog taking over his vision. The tears were gushing now; cracked, hoarse, breathless sobs escaping in between desperate gasps for oxygen; and the wolves were ever approaching.

He ran.

A snarl.

He ran.

A howl.

He ran.

A thud as he crashed into the ground, hands cut and bleeding, a surge of determination mixed in with terror as he got back up.

He ran.

And by some miracle, as he ran, the fog cleared. Slowly, agonisingly slowly, the thick sheet of chokingly dense mist lifted. Matthieu let out a strangled, crazed laugh that scared him almost as much as the wolves' howling, following by a heavy fit of coughing.

He could see; by the light of the moon, faint, dark silhouettes were visible and in the distance, Matthieu could see something rising up, majestically climbing far above the canopy of the forest. _Thank you. Thank you._ He wasn't sure who he was thanking, exactly, but somehow, some force must have heard his cry - there was no other way. The timing was too perfect.

Every bit of elation he felt soon disappeared. With his newfouns sight, not only could he see what had to be some kind of building, but also exactly how near to him his pursuers were.

The wolves; the hungry wolves. He could hear them - howling, growling, snarling, snapping - behind him, and made the terrible mistake of looking back to see the threat.

They were massive, hulking, ferocious creatures: thick fur matted with grime and blood; luminous yellow eyes, the light of deadly intelligence clearly present in them; razor sharp claws, pawing eagerly at the snow; and large, gaping maws, filled with vicious, bloodstained teeth, ready to attack their next meal. They were still fairly far away but...

...there were just so, so many of them.

 _This is it. This is where I'm going to die, in the middle of some forest where no one'll ever find me. I should have stayed, oh God, I should have stayed - why did I go? Alfred, I'm so sorry, why was I so damn_ stupid _?_

 _...no. I can't give up. I'm going to make it. I'm going to do this, and I'm going to come back in time for Alfred and Sakura's wedding, because damn it, that's what I said I would do._

Refueled with determination and sheer stubbornness, he sprinted through the trees with new vigour, his passion for survival rekindled. Closer and closer, towards the mysterious building in the distance, hunting knife clenched firmly in his hand. If it came down to it, he was willing to use it.

He was almost there, the pack of wolves nearly on his heels. He pushed his lungs and legs further, one more breath, one more step, just a little further-

And there it was. A massive, dark castle; cold, unwelcoming walls standing around it. Matthieu found himself in front of a thick, sturdy portcullis, the grill impossible for even him to slip through. The wolves were catching up, and immediately, Matthieu knew what he had to do. He stuck his hunting knife into his pack, threw his useless lantern to the floor and slipped his hand firmly into a gap in the grill and began to climb.

Higher and higher he went, wincing and crying out as his bruised, cut and bleeding hands were met by cold, rough metal. Higher and higher; with every desperate swing of his arms he managed another few inches. High and higher; there were a few times he nearly lost his grip and fell to the mercy of the wolves, who had gathered below, snarling hungrily at their prey.

Eventually, he reached the top of the portcullis, holding on precariously to the edge. There was a good foot of wall left above him; there was no way he could swing himself up and over it, unless...

Carefully, slowly, he reached over for his pack and pulled out his hunting knife. Summoning every last bit of his strength, he lifted his arm to ram it into the mortar in between the large stone bricks. _No. Don't be stupid. You've made it this far, I can't afford to mess up now._ _Slowly, like how Berwald chisels his projects._ He took his blade and lightly, firmly, began chipping away at the mortar. Dust began to fall, a crack began to form.

Eventually, as his strength was waning, Matthieu decided it was time for the final blow. This time, he _did_ smash his knife into the crack. A cloud of dust; the blade splintered into pieces that spiraled down to the ground. It wouldn't be used again, but that didn't matter. There was a hole, just big enough for Matthieu to slide his fingers in and hoist himself on top of the wall.

Matthieu sat there for a moment, splayed out on top of the thick wall. A feeling of elation spread through his chest and he choked out a hoarse, ecstatic laugh. Somehow, he had made it; he was alive. The wolves were howling angrily below, clawing at the gate, deprived of their night's meal. Matthieu, though he knew it wouldn't mean anything, spat down at them spitefully. He had won this battle.

Still, he wasn't done. He had to get back down, to the castle. He needed shelter, he needed medicine, he needed rest. Matthieu looked down at the pure white, snowy ground. It was a long way down; he wasn't sure if he wanted to risk jumping, ever if the snow looked safe enough to break his fall. He didn't think climbing was a good idea either - he couldn't reach a handhold from his position, and he _definitely_ didn't want to jump to catch at the portcullis; dislocating his arm didn't sound fun.

But they were the only two options - he had to pick which one was safest.

A vague memory came to him - something his father had taught him when he was a child:

 _'When you fall, never try to land on your feet, your back, arms, anything. Don't try to land elegantly. Get enough momentum you need to push yourself into a tumble forward. It'll absorb most of the impact and you're less likely to hurt yourself. Or perhaps next time, you should just avoid climbing trees in the first place, eh?'_

An irrational half-smile tugged at the corner of Matthieu's lips. _Well, I couldn't exactly avoid climbing_ this _, eh, Dad?_

It was a stupid idea, but if he fell, he might be able to get away without injuring himself. The snow did seem rather soft...

 _This is it._

First, he tossed his pack to the ground a few metres ahead of him. Next, he carefully stood up on the wall, taking a deep breath. _You can do this, Mattie. Remember what Dad showed you. Arms out, legs over head. Arms out, legs over head. Arms out..._

And with that, he launched himself forward, headfirst off the wall.

Matthieu felt weightless, suspended in midair, as he extended his arms and prayed a silent prayer to anyone who was listening, and fell.

He landed in the snow with a soft thud, the impact stinging his wrists, but true to his plan, he tumbled forward, until he was sprawled out on his back, covered in snow, dirt and blood. His pack lay next to him, the both of them safe and sound. Matthieu was too exhausted to even think, but exhilaration was coursing through his veins at the realization of what he had just gone through, what he had done. He was amazed that he was even alive.

Slowly, with immense difficulty, he stood up. The wolves were still attacking the gate viciously, but Matthieu was no longer afraid of them. He was safe now, and he could find shelter in this... castle?

He couldn't help but stare. It was made of firm, dark grey stone, and appeared to be sturdy as a mountain, a true fortress of a place. It was amazing, yet...

The gardens and grounds around him were neatly kept, yet they did not seem used. The portcullis wasn't rused, yet it was firmly planted into the ground and buried in snow, as if it hadn't been opened in years. And the biggest mystery of all - who would build a castle in the middle of the forest? It was strange, but if it would give Matthieu what he needed, he didn't care. He grabbed his pack and staggered weakly to the door.

He prayed that someone would hear him - it _was_ the middle of the night, the moon glowing high up in the sky, and anyone in their right minds would be fast asleep in a warm bed. Still, someone _had_ to hear him. They just _had_ to.

When he opened his mouth, no audible sound came, so he settled for lifting the heavy brass knocker and rapping it against the wood loudly, hoping it would be enough to rouse whoever was inside.

No one came. He waited for what seemed like an eternity, and knocked again. The adrenaline rush he had been running on was fading; he could feel his exhaustion catching up on him.

He looked down at his hands. Red with blood, blue with cold, grimy with dirt. They were wet, and trembling as he raised them to knock one last time. _Please... Please let someone be there, please let someone hear me._

Just as Matthieu's head began to feel light and he began to feel dizzy with exhaustion, the door opened. The world spun as he collapsed to his knees, teeth chattering and tears of equal joy and pain spilling from his eyes. The last things he heard were slurred, anxious voices, worried words before his eyes fell shut and the world turned black.

.

"...by God, I feel awful, Francis, what if we _had_ left him outside?"

"Arthur, I have told you three damn times, it was _not_ your fault! Now stop being a self-pitying idiot and help me change this cloth."

"You two! Stop arguing, and- oh! He's awake!"

Matthieu looked around blearily, his surroundings vague and blurred. He could make out a warm fireplace, and a little tea-cart next to him, holding a teapot, tea cup, candelabrum and mantel clock. _What the hell...? Where am I?_

And then it all came back to him: Ivan, the woods, the wolves, the castle... that had to be where he was. Someone must have brought him in, and...

He looked down. He was sitting in a cosy chair, surrounded by soft cushions, covered with a warm duvet. His hands were bandaged and he was... cleaner? His feet were resting comfortably, boots removed, on a golden ottoman. There was a damp, lukewarm cloth on his forehead, which fell off and landed on his chest. Slowly, he raised an arm to move it and immediately cried out in pain. His arm was on fire, and tears formed in his eyes at the sudden movement. "No, no, no, stay still!" cried a male voice, the second one that he had heard earlier. "Your arms are very bruised, moving will hurt."

He tried to respond, but his voice wouldn't work. "Don't try to talk, sweetie, you'll only hurt yourself more. You've been through a lot, just rest and let us do the work, okay?" _Who... who's saying all this?_ That one was female. She was the one who had noticed he was awake, but he couldn't see _any_ people, let alone three. "Here, have some tea. That'll warm up your throat. Use your left arm, not your right. I think that one's a little better." He heard tea being poured into a cup. "Slowly now."

"Can I say hello to the guest, Miss Eliza?" A new voice - a child's.

"Not yet, Feli, we don't want to bother him. You remember how the last one reacted. Just stay quiet for now."

"Okay, Miss Eliza."

Slowly, Matthieu did as suggested, and raised his left arm very gently, moving it towards the teacup. He winced, but it wasn't that bad, and he gratefully sipped at the tea. It tasted like heaven - warm and sweet and _perfect._ His throat felt better, and this time, he managed to croak out a weak, "Thank you."

"Don't worry, _cher_ , it's no trouble," reassured the male voice.

"Don't speak too soon," grumbled the very first voice, a decidedly grumpier one that spoke in a strange accent. "When the furball finds out, he won't be pleased."

"Now, now, Arthur," said the second male patronisingly. "Be nice. The 'furball' is royalty, after all, and he is one of my best friends."

"Oh, he's royalty, all right, a royal pain in my ar-" The voice froze mid-word, realising that he was in front of a guest, a woman and a child. "...neck. I say!" he exclaimed. "No wonder the boy hasn't reacted to us yet, he needs his glasses!"

"Ah, for once, the clock is useful. Hand them over, Kirkland."

"Francis, no, wait-"

He felt a sudden thud of weight on his chest and suddenly found his glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He blinked, only to be faced with the candelabrum he had seen earlier, standing on his chest. _How did it move? It was on that tea tray a second ago._ To his astonishment, as he looked closer, he could make out a little face on the wax and intricately carved metal holdings of the candles. Two distinct eyes, a wax nose and an opening right above the metal body resembling a mouth. The candelabrum gave him a friendly grin. "Hello."

Matthieu screamed - or tried to. The most noise he could make was a scratch, hoarse cough that somewhat conveyed his terror. The clock now joined the candelabrum and smacked it with a stubby little wooden arm. "Now look what you've done! Gone and scared the boy, you have. The last thing he wants to see after nearly dying is _your_ hideous face."

"I hardly think you can talk about hideousness, _cher_ ," replied the candelabrum dryly, flicking the clock to the floor with a candle, who landed with a shriek.

"Why, you little-" began the clock, advancing on the candelabrum, little pendulum swinging wildly in its case, much faster than before, but was interrupted by the teapot, who had opted to stay put on the tea tray.

"You _idiots_ ," she exclaimed exasperatedly. "You're disturbing the poor thing, he's been through so much already, and there is _no_ need to force any more sudden realisations-"

"Can I say hello now, Miss Eliza?"

Matthieu looked down at his hand to see the little teacup looking pleadingly with a face of its own at the teapot, and promptly fainted.

.

When Matthieu awoke for the second time, he was sure that he had been dreaming. He would wake up in a little bed, in a little cottage, in a little town, a quiet village. He would feel the wooden frame through the straw, groan sleepily and stretch out the kinks in his back and neck before stumbling out of his room to dunk himself into the river to clean himself up and come to a rather rude, uncomfortable awakening from his sleepy haze. Alfred would have already gone out into the woods for a walk, and Matthieu would, once he had returned to the house and gotten dressed, go out and shop, before preparing an edible breakfast, compared to Alfred's disgusting, oily meals that Matthieu and his poor stomach had now forbidden. He let out a sigh of relief. _Thank God. That was weird; my dreams are usually pretty sensible. That one was just... I don't even know_ what _to say about it._

However, when he actually did open his eyes, he was instead awoken in a familiar room, in a familiar chair, with four worried figures next to him on a tea tray - none of them even remotely human.

He opened his mouth in shock, jaw dropping at the realization: _It wasn't a dream!_ He tried to find something, _anything_ to say, but no words came.

"Before you say anything," interrupted the candelabrum, "let us do our job properly, and offer you a meal. You look absolutely starved, _cher_ , and I promise, after we do this for you, you will have all the explanations you like." _An explanation sounds nice, and..._ His stomach rumbled at the thought of food, and the candelabrum smirked at the sound, taking it as agreement. " _T_ _rès bien._ Now! To the dining room!"

"Not so fast, matchstick," interjected the clock, glaring at the candelabrum. "He can barely hold a cup of tea, let alone walk. Use whatever little brains you have before you open your mouth. Besides, there is absolutely _no_ way I will allow you to host another one of your _dinners._ " He spoke the word with utter disdain and contempt. "Let's not forget what happened the last time _that_ happened. Hmph. 'Dinners'. Loud, bothersome affairs."

"But, Arthur," protested the candelabrum, looking wounded. "I was overexcited then, and the lady herself said that she found it amusing. Come on, I promise I'll keep it very professional."

"Absolutely not. I forbid it." The clock stood firm, crossing his arms and glaring at the candelabrum, who glared right back.

The teapot rolled her eyes and hopped closer to Matthieu. "Would you like us to bring you some soup, dearie?" she suggested quietly, smiling up at him. "I woke the pots up about an hour ago. I think some good chicken soup would do you good."

Matthieu nodded gratefully. _Well... they're not that bad. They've been nothing but kind to me - they must've been the ones that brought me in. Besides, this is all rather magical. I kind of feel bad for my reaction earlier._ _Oh, no, I_ _probably offended them._

"-you insolent candlestick!"

"Rusted, stuck-up _rosbif_!"

"Wax brain!"

" _No_ brain!"

"Excuse me?!"

Matthieu cleared his throat softly, causing the two to stop bickering and look at him. He managed to whisper hoarsely, "Thank you-," he broke into a fit of coughing, "-for everything. You're very... very kind." His voice was returning, and he was slowly speaking, stopping whenever he felt a cough building. His throat still felt raw and dry, but the tea earlier had helped a lot. "Sorry for... reacting so rudely... earlier. I was... startled."

The candelabrum gave him a charming smile. "It's no problem, _cher._ In fact, _I_ am sorry for surprising you earlier."

The teapot let out a happy squeak. "Oh, it's my pleasure, darling. It's been so long since we've had a guest, we love having you here."

"No wonder you were startled," muttered the clock, although he too looked rather proud of himself. "We aren't exactly the prettiest sights. Still, I'm pleased you're enjoying our service, my boy, we do try." He seemed to realise something, and gasped. "Oh, heavens, we haven't introduced ourselves. My apologies for that. I am-"

"-not handling this," finished the candelabrum, knocking the clock out of the way and fixing himself in the centre of Matthieu's attention. " _I_ shall deal with the introductions. Firstly, this lovely lady here," he gestured at the teapot, "is one Miss Elizaveta Héderváry. I have to give credit where it is due - she is the one who masterminded your care, despite the fact that she was quite soundly asleep when we found you. She is the chief maid of this castle and a very good one at that."

"Shush, Franny," giggled Elizaveta, fondly smacking him with her handle. "And just call me Lizzie, or Eliza, darling, everyone does. It's lovely to have you here, really. It's been so long since we had a guest. Please make yourself at home."

" _Et moi_!" exclaimed the candelabrum with a flourishing bow, little flames flaring up from the little candles on his arms. " _Je m'appelle Francis Bonnefoy,_ I am- er, _was_ the royal chef and best cook in the land-"

"And the most humble," mumbled the clock grumpily.

"-and I am absolutely _delighted_ to meet you," continued Francis, ignoring the clock. "If you ever need anything, please let me know, _cher_ , I am at your service." Another sweeping bow and a swishing of the flames. The clock and the teapot both rolled their eyes at that.

The clock cleared his throat. "I think you're forgetting someone, Bonnefoy," he said pointedly.

"Hmm?" The candelabrum raised an eyebrow in mock confusion. "Oh." He waved an arm offhandedly down to Matthieu's feet. "And this is Aster. He's one of the dogs."

To Matthieu's alarm, his footrest, at the sound of 'Aster', started bouncing up and down, yapping excitedly. Matthieu's feet fell to the floor as the 'dog' starting prancing around the room, raising quite the racket. This occurred much to the panic of the fussy little clock, who immediately began leaping up and down, shushing the dog. "Quiet!" it hissed. "Aster! Quiet _down_ , boy, you'll wake the whole bloody house- oh, Lord, please, stop!"

The dog only began barking louder when it noticed someone paying attention to it, and immediately noticed Matthieu, pawing at his lap with two stubby little legs. Matthieu let out a hoarse little laugh; he liked dogs - he had owned one when he was young, a fluffy white dog that, as Matthieu had realised when he was older, hadn't cared about him very much. Still, he had adored it. This... was certainly weird, but surely a footrest-dog wasn't that different from a normal one? Matthieu reached over to it and tentatively scratched at the golden, adorned material covering it. The dog was thrilled; it yapped excitedly and nudged against Matthieu lovingly.

Francis chuckled quietly at the scene. "Aww," cooed Elizaveta delightedly. "I already like this one better than the last," she whispered to Francis, at a volume that she thought Matthieu couldn't hear. The compliment warmed him, and he couldn't help a little smile as Francis nodded in agreement.

"Well, now you've done it, Francis!" snapped the clock, jumping back up onto the tea tray. "Splendid! Just peachy! The prince is going to wake up and then we're _all_ done for! Except perhaps Elizaveta, but the point remains that-"

"Arthur," began Francis, draping a placating arm around the clock. "Please, calm down. No one enjoys hearing you speak like this. Or at all. This," he turned to Matthieu, shoving the clock forward as if to present him, "is our resident worry-wart, Arthur Kirkland."

"Head butler!" corrected Arthur angrily. "Head butler, and _I_ am in charge here, as certain candlesticks-"

"Candelabra," interjected Francis.

"- _candlesticks_ seem to forget." He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as if to compose himself, and reopened them with a polite smile. "It is wonderful to welcome you to our castle, sir, and a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Please let me know if there is anything at all I can do for you. I must apologize for As- the dog," he amended hurriedly, noticing the pup itself look up at the almost-sound of his name, "and also Francis. May we know your name, sir?"

Matthieu winced at the use of 'sir'. "Matthieu," he whispered. "Matthieu... Williams." He had always preferred to use the 'Williams' half of his last name - his father's name, in contrast to Alfred's use of 'Jones'. Alfred had always gotten along better with their mother.

Francis smiled gently. "Well, it's lovely to meet you, Matthieu. We hope that-"

"Francis? Who're you talking to? Jesus Christ, man, it's the middle of the damn nigh- is that someone in my chair?"

A new voice, behind him. One that brought fear to Arthur's face, widened Francis' eyes and made Elizaveta hop forward protectively towards the voice. "Now, Gil," she said calmly, a threatening edge to her voice. "Don't overreact. I think you should go back to sleep."

A fierce growl. "The hell, Liz? I thought I told you that no one else is allowed to enter this castle?"

Matthieu felt a thrill go through him - not one of excitement, but one of fear. The earlier magic was gone, replaced by this voice, threateningly low tones, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. _Not again... what's happening?_ He tried to turn in his chair, but the candelabrum touched his arm lightly. "Don't worry, _cher_ , everything's fine," he whispered.

"Everything is _not_ fine, Francis!" That voice again. "Why is he here? To steal? To kill me? What's the reason this time?"

"Gilbert, he was dying,"pleaded Francis. "We _had_ to take him in. The wolves nearly got him-"

"Your Highness," interjected Arthur, stepping forward and bowing. "Deepest apologies for waking you, but this boy is harmless. He can barely move, and he doesn't seem like a thief at all. Although, just for your information, this was Francis' idea," he added quickly.

"Save your speeches, Arthur," snapped the voice. "I'll ask this guy myself."

"Gil," began Elizaveta, hopping towards the voice again. "Use that tiny brain of yours, this could be- hey!"

A shadow. A massive shadow, a huge shape, moving too fast for Matthieu to get a clear view. Eventually, it settled in front of him, towering over the boy in the chair, huddled up in his warm blankets which no longer felt quite as warm. Matthieu felt horror building up in his stomach and the cold hand of fear gripping his heart. The creature bared its teeth at Matthieu in a malicious grin. "And I thought I looked like garbage."

* * *

 **Hey guys!**

 **I'm so sorry this chapter took so long to upload - there were a few incidents and I actually lost the entire thing at one point, not to mention the amount of thinking I had to do to think of the best way for Matthieu to meet Gilbert (I'm still not happy with it -_-) and loads of stuff in general happening in my life. But it's up now! And from here, it should be pretty smooth sailing when it comes to writing.**

 **And now, for the thanks:**

 **Firstly, random Matthew Williams on shamchat! Thank you for listening to me rant about my writers' block and helping me think of the best way to write Gilbert. That last line was for you ;)**

 **Secondly, everyone who followed, favourited and of course, reviewed! It honestly made me so happy aaaaa thank you so much.**

 **That's all for now, but that second thank you leads me into my last thing to say - I absolutely love reading reviews, whether they are positive or constructive criticism (if you're going to leave constructive criticism, please mention exactly what it was I did wrong so I can fix it, because hate messages aren't helpful), so feel free to leave a review telling me what you thought!**

 **I hope you've enjoyed my story so far, and the second part of this chapter didn't turn out as well as I wanted it to, but don't worry, I promise I'll edit and the next one will be so much better.**

 **Thank you all and I hope you have an awesome day!**

 **\- Cass**

 **EDIT: I AM SO SORRY OMG THE EDITING WAS _TERRIBLE_ BEFORE I'M ONLY JUST GOING TO AND FINDING ALL OF THESE MISTAKES WTF**


	4. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER: This story and some characters in it are based on the 1991 movie _Beauty and the Beast_. I do not own this movie; all rights and credit goes to Disney. The characters in this story belong to the anime and manga Hetalia, written/drawn by Hidekaz Himaruya. Once again, I own nothing, all credits and rights go to him.**

* * *

Matthieu wasn't sure what to think, so he settled for leaving his mind blank as he stared in horror at the sight before him. Somewhere inside of him, he must have had some hunting blood that kicked in, because through his fear, he found himself analysing this strange new creature.

It was massive. A thick coat of matted silver fur, shining in the dim light of the fire. For some reason, it was wearing loose trousers over its hind legs and a swirling black cape around its bearlike body. It had a wolfish snout, slobbering lips drawn back to reveal teeth that were impossibly sharp. Its breath smelled awful; like meat and… alcohol? Its face was covered in scars, one particularly ugly one running over its left eye.

 _Its eyes…_

Its eyes were a piercing red, almost the exact colour of blood, glinting with anger and malice. They sent chills down Matthieu's spine – what kind of beast _was_ this?

"What's the matter?" demanded the beast in an entirely too human voice. "Cat got your tongue? Ooh, it's been a while since I've eaten a good tongue…" Its malicious grin widened and it emitted a loud cackle, blowing flecks of saliva into Matthieu's face.

Matthieu couldn't help it; he whimpered in terror, trying to edge backwards, but the chair stopped him. _Oh God, this is it. I'm finally going to die. After everything I've been through…_

"Gilbert!" exclaimed Elizaveta angrily, hopping off her tea tray and jumping firmly on top of the monster's foot. Matthieu's jaw dropped at the sight of the tiny teapot, seemingly unafraid of the massive creature towering over her. _Is she insane?_

"Ow!" yelped the monster, retreating a little from the chair to glare at her. "What the hell, Lizzie?! You just boiled something, you're too hot!"

"Are you _seriously_ trying to flirt with me _now_?!"

"I wasn't trying to-"

"Leave that boy alone, you bastard, he's been through hell!" She jumped in place again to drive her point home. "Can't you see he's hurt, you insensitive, callous-"

"Here we go," muttered Arthur, burying his head in his hands.

"Lizzie, _cherie_ ," tried Francis, "perhaps you should calm down, hmm?"

"- _disgusting_ -"

"Yeah?!" yelled the monster, glaring down at the teacup ferociously. "Well, I gave you orders, Lizzie! And what did you do?"

"-jerk! He is _injured_ and he needs care!"

"You brought him into our home! You know what he's going to do?!"

"Good heavens," sighed Arthur in exasperation. "You two!" he ordered, joining the melee. "Pipe down, or you'll wake the whole bloody – excuse me, Elizaveta, didn't mean to use that sort of language – castle!"

Matthieu gawked at the scene in sheer astonishment. Francis sighed, watching the three argue heatedly. " _Mon Dieu_." He hopped over to Matthieu, tapping his hand. "Are you alright, Matthieu?" he asked quietly.

Matthieu managed a weak shake of the head. "What… what _is_ that?"

He then realised he shouldn't have said anything.

The words caught the beast's attention, and he ignored the teapot and the clock, turning to Matthieu. "So you _can_ speak." He prowled towards Matthieu, pushing away the candelabrum to lift a paw and hook a talon threateningly through his collar. "Talk. Why are you here? Someone tell you about me? Had to see my good looks through your own eyes? Heard about the riches? Come on!" He gave Matthieu a vicious shake, emitting a low, animalistic growl.

Matthieu cried out in pain, closing his eyes in fear. "N-no, please! I'm not-"

"Gilbert?"

A child's voice. Not the one from before, this was a different one.

And to Matthieu's amazement, the beast stopped. Something changed in its eyes, from anger to… guilt? It backed off, releasing Matthieu and turning away in shame to face the doorway behind him. "Morning, West," it greeted playfully. _West? What the hell is happening?_

"Gil, what are you doing? Why are you up this early?" complained the child. "It's…"

"Two o' clock," supplied Arthur helpfully.

"Two o' clock," finished the child severely. "It's-" Matthieu heard a tiny stifled yawn come from behind him. "-it's not healthy."

The beast pulled back its lips in what seemed to be… a smile? For a second, Matthieu thought he could see a spark of humanity in it. _This is getting stranger by the second._ "Being unhealthy," he replied with a cackle. "Don't worry, Luddy, I'll be fine. Get back to sleep, okay?"

"…okay. You should go to sleep too."

"Relax, I will."

"Promise?"

The beast sighed. "Promise."

"Okay. Good night, Gilbert."

"Night, West."

Matthieu heard the door shut, and as sound as the sound rung through the air, the beast rounded on him again, raising a massive arm as if to claw at him, before hissing and lowering it. "Goddamn it," it cursed, turning to Francis, Arthur and Elizaveta, who had once again gathered on the tea tray. "Put him in the dungeon. Do _not_ ," he growled, "disobey me again."

"Gilbert," began Francis, flashing him a nervous but nevertheless charming smile, "you know, the boy might be with us for quite some time-"

"I don't want him to be here for quite some time!"

"The faster he heals, the faster he can leave," prompted Arthur, nudging the candelabrum.

" _Oui_ , the faster he heals, the faster he can leave," agreed Francis. "So I was thinking that you might want to offer him a room?"

The monster – Gilbert – growled uncertainly, before turning to Matthieu, cape swirling around him menacingly. "I am the master of this castle. My word is law. And I say that you're staying in a room. The staff will nurse you back to health. And the _moment_ you are healthy enough, you are out of the castle." He gave one last snarl before turning away and marching out of the door.

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank heavens. Are you alright, my boy?"

Matthieu managed a weak nod.

Francis grimaced. "I hate to say it, but I think we will _have_ to move you. We've already upset him once. Are you up for it?"

"Don't worry if you're not," added Elizaveta, still looking angry. "You don't have to do what Gil says, he's just sleepy and grumpy and he doesn't mean anything he says."

"Does he… does he eat tongues?" was the only question Matthieu could muster.

Francis let out a soft chuckle. "No, cher, he doesn't. He just likes to scare people."

"…oh. And yeah… I'm up for it, I think. I'll try." He smiled feebly at the three kind servants.

Elizaveta nodded approvingly, hopping down from the tea tray. "Well, you boys find him a room. I'm going to go get him some food. And try to focus."

"Of course we will," huffed Arthur indignantly. "Elizaveta, please. I am a very focused person; I can find him an adequate room."

It took them an hour of agonizing stair climbing, but eventually, they did. Matthew's legs felt like they were melting from the inside – he wasn't an athletic man and the run had taken its toll on his muscles. He still wasn't entirely sure how he had even managed it in the first place.

Arthur and Francis hopped along beside him the whole climb, Francis encouragingly him cheerfully and lighting the way, while Arthur frantically shushed him and occasionally spouted commentary on some 14th century bust decorating the hallway.

The hall itself was amazing; the moment Matthieu had exited the little room, he had stared for a full five minutes in awe. It was nothing like anything he had ever seen before, its levels of grandeur were more than he had ever dreamed could exist.

He could see the door, a massive, arched wooden affair, with intricately carved patterns and a firm doorknob, complete with holders that should have held a massive thick beam to protect the castle from intruders. He had seen such a thing in the town hall, but this door had holders, but no beam. Strange… _Then again, if there was a beam, I don't think the staff would've been able to lift it._

The floor was carpeted, and the carpet was incredibly soft beneath Matthieu's bare feet and he wriggled his toes appreciatively. It was a deep burgundy, stretching the expanse of the hall. The walls were plain, but covered in various artworks and paintings, the occasional sculpture or statue in a corner.

He had looked up to see a beautiful, delicate chandelier, intricate fractals of glass hanging from the golden frame. Unlit candles sat in their holders, and Matthieu could only imagine what they would look like lit up, wreathing the entrance hall in golden light, the glass making rays of candlelight shine in patterns all over the walls... it would be magnificent.

In the middle of the hall were two grand staircases spiralling upwards onto a second floor, a balcony hanging over the hall. That was where most of Matthieu's struggle had taken place; mercifully, he was now on the balcony, right at the top of the staircase. He looked down on the hall – it was almost more amazing from above.

Now, he faced two plaques on the wall – signs pointing to the left and right: 'West Wing' and 'East Wing' respectively. He turned to the clock and the candelabrum at his feet questioningly. "Um, which wing is-"

" _West Wing_!" the two of them interrupted in unison, in a near shout.

Arthur chuckled nervously. "No need to worry about the East Wing at all, lad, Nothing interesting, or even remotely- ow!" He leapt a foot or so into the air, clutching his back, to Matthieu's alarm. _Since when can clocks jump that high?_

Francis innocently blew out one of his candles, ignoring the yelping clock who was uttering some… curses? _What the hell is he saying? 'Bloody Nora'? 'Consarn it'? 'Pillock'? That has to be made up._ "Ignore the pocket watch, _cher_." Francis leaning up towards him conspiratorially, whispering in a voice loud enough for Arthur to hear, "I think a few of his cogs have rusted, you know, up here." He gestured at his top candle. "Old age, you know."

That started off another string of cursing, this time directed towards the candelabrum. Matthieu decided it was definitely some sort of foreign language. He cleared his throat apologetically. "Um, excuse me, Arthur?"

The clock froze in the midst of his rant and looked quite embarrassed. "Oh, heavens, my apologies, Matthieu, I got quite carried away. Come on, your room is right over here." He shot a final glare at Francis before hopping along to the door and waiting for them expectantly.

Matthieu silently thanked his lucky stars that he was finally here. _Whether it's in a castle with a terrifying beast or not, a bed sounds amazing..._ He tried the doorknob to find it already unlocked. Even the door was fancy - a golden, intricate handle in the shape of... a bird? He wanted to examine it more closely, but his eyes were closing of his own accord. He looked down at Francis, unsure. _Can I...?_ The candelabrum seemed to sense his hesitation and nodded, smiling encouragingly. "Go on, _cher_ , it's all yours for as long as you stay here."

 _Oh my God._ He had never seen anything like it. The room was so spacious, the same soft carpet spanning the floor and tasteful furniture lining the walls. The only thing that stood out from the burgundy and deep brown wooden decor was a pearl-coloured closet, complete with pale pink and peach frills on its corners and decorated with painted patterns and flowers. Arthur noticed Matthieu staring at it and winced. "Don't ask about the wardrobe. You'll find out soon enough."

Matthieu was too tired to question anything. Besides, of all the things he had experienced that night, an out-of-place wardrobe was far from the strangest. "Do you like it?" Francis questioned expectantly. "This one is my personal favourite - nothing but the best for you, _cher._ "

"I... I _love_ it!" Matthieu exclaimed in delight, his throat still stinging a bit. "This is amazing, thank you so much! You've all been so kind to me; I really appreciate it," he told them earnestly.

That made both Francis and Arthur beam happily. "I'm glad you do, my boy," Arthur replied. "And let us know if there's anything we can do for you; we _are_ here to serve, after all." Matthieu nodded gratefully.

"And, _cher_ ," Francis added gently. "Don't worry too much about Gilbert. We're going to talk to him, and he'll see sense. The poor boy is lonely, and strangers don't generally treat him well. You can understand why he's so defensive." Matthieu had so many questions, but he decided not to ask. All he wanted now was to sleep.

Arthur looked rather alarmed at this. "' _We_ '? What do you mean, 'we'? I'm not going to talk to him, that's your job, you're his friend."

Francis shushed him carelessly. "We'll talk about that later, _cher_ , but for now, let's leave Matthieu alone, hmm? He's had a long day."

Arthur made a noise of agreement and bid Matthieu a quick, "Good night, Matthieu, sleep well."

Francis did the same. " _Bonne nuit, cher._ " The two left the room together, and Matthieu could hear faint bickering through the door. He cracked a smile. _What a strange pair._

The moment they were gone, Matthieu noticed a little door in the corner of the room. Curiously, he opened it. _I can't fall asleep yet anyway - Elizaveta is bringing me soup, and I_ am _kinda hungry._ Inside was a little bathroom, but it was the fanciest he had ever seen - there seemed to be touches of gold everywhere, around a basin on a counter, the feet of a strange tub on the floor and of course, on the decorations. _What... what_ is _this stuff?_ Matthieu was in awe - he hadn't seen a room like this before.

The tub was filled with water - Matthieu wondered what for. He then recalled something Alfred had told him, from one of his books, about rich nobles having tubs of warm water to bathe themselves. He had dismissed it as fiction - he had never known anything but the cold water of the rushing river as he attempted to scrub off the grime of the day. Now, however, he wondered if it was true - the tub seemed to match the description. Cautiously, he dipped a finger into the water. _It's warm..._ By the tub, Matthieu noticed fluffy white towels, like the kind Sakura's fiancé, the Ottoman trader, had introduced to the village, and a bathrobe. Sakura had gifted a pair of those to the twins, but neither had ever used them in mutual agreement that whoever used one first would never hear the end of it. _Whoa, I guess it_ is _for bathing. Well, I might as well give it a shot._

He stripped off his clothing and winced, glancing in a tall mirror. His body and it's injuries were fully on display; his skin was paper marked with thin red lines and dark purple splotches. His face was faring no better, crooked and half-broken spectacles resting on his nose in front of tired blue-violet eyes that had seen far too much strangeness for an entire lifetime, let alone one day. Matthieu looked down at the floor, turning away from the mirror. He didn't want to see any more.

He stepped into the tub, taking care not to slosh any of the water out onto the floor and let it go to waste. He sank in, unable to resist letting out a sigh as the warm water lapped around him. _I could get used to this. Maybe this castle isn't so bad. As long as I don't get brutally murdered by a monster with only a candle, a clock and a teapot defending me._ Now that he was at peace, Matthieu took the opportunity to think through the day's events.

 _Okay..._

 _I'm in a castle with a monster and a bunch of talking furniture._

Matthieu decided thinking wasn't a good idea.

After a few minutes of gentle scrubbing and cleaning out cuts, as well as just soaking up the warmth, the heat faded and Matthieu got out of the tub, drying himself off and wrapping the bathrobe around him. _Al will never hear about this,_ he vowed to himself, neatly folding his clothes and leaving them on the counter before going back into the bedroom.

He noticed a pair of fresh, loose clothes stretched out on the bed. He didn't bother sparing a thought as to wherre they had come from, he just quickly stripped out of bathrobe and climbed into the soft pyjamas, the velvety material tickling his skin. He reclined on his head, closing his eyes and enjoying the bliss of having such a soft, comfortable bed. His body sank into the mattress, the blankets and duvet caressing his skin. "This is amazing," he sighed.

"Well, only the best for the guests," replied a voice cheerfully.

Matthieu jolted upwards, looking around wildly to find the source of the sound.

"Relax, dearie, it's just me." A familiar teapot stood on a tea-cart. "And don't worry, I didn't look."

Matthieu exhaled in relief. "Good evening, Elizaveta."

"Lizzy. I insist." The tea tray seemed to roll over to him of its own accord. Elizaveta flashed him a wide smile and gestured to a bowl containing a healthy helping of soup. "Help yourself. The pots are pleased to have you - this is one of the best things they've made in a while."

Matthieu decided to ignore the second statement, mumbling a quick word of thanks as he reached for the soup and a spoon. Its scent had wafted over to him, and his stomach was begging for it. He cautiously took a sip - it was _delicious._ He began wolfing down the meal, before realising Elizaveta was right there and clearing his throat, blushing. He raised the spoon to his mouth, daintily taking a sip. _Manners, Matthieu._

She simply giggled and said, "Don't worry, I don't blame you."

Matthieu flashed her an appreciative smile and quickly inhaled the rest of the soup. "Thank you so much," he told her eagerly once his stomach was comfortably filled with the warm soup and the empty bowl was back on the tray. "That was amazing... this _place_ is amazing. I love this castle, and you've all been so kind to-" Matthieu was interrupted by yawn that would give a lion's a run for its money.

"I'm glad you think so," said Elizaveta happily, giggling. "Now, I think I'll let you sleep, Matthieu. You must be exhausted. Have a good sleep, dear, and I'll see you tomorrow morning. Good night!" The tea-cart rolled over to the door, which Elizaveta somehow opened with ease.

"Good night, Elizaveta," called Matthieu, as she slipped through it and back down to the kitchens. He slipped underneath the blankets and curled up in their soft, comforting warmth. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

.

"Gilbert Rolfe Beilschmidt, get your lazy hindquarters out of that bathroom and explain yourself!"

Silence. Francis winced, Arthur fidgeting nervously beside him.

Elizaveta showed no such worry, instead letting out another ear-piercing shout. "I mean it, Beilschmidt! I'll pour boiling water all over your filthy mane, I swear to the Lord himself!"

"Lizzie, _cherie_ ," began Francis in a soothing tone of voice. "Perhaps we should calm down and-"

"Heaven help me, Franny, if you say that again, I'll drop your _derrière_ out of the window!"

"Uh, good morning. Did I miss something?" All three turned around to see a sleepy, still-dirt-covered hoe in the doorway.

Arthur's eyes drifted down to the trail of mud the garden instrument had left behind and they nearly bugged out. "Carriedo! How many bloody - excuse my language, Elizaveta - times have I told you to clean yourself up before coming inside?!"

"Arthur, please-"

"Mud on the carpet, dirt all over the place, _again_ -"

" _Cher_ -"

"- _ruining_ this castle in front of a _guest_ -"

"Wait, what?" The hoe, Antonio, snapped to attention at the sound of the word guest. "There's someone in the castle?"

"Yes, you ninny," snapped Arthur. "Honestly, I don't know how you slept through it. The boy made quite an entrance."

Meanwhile, Elizaveta continued screaming abuse at the closed door. In the brief moment of quiet in between Arthur's statement and Antonio's response, Francis saw an opportunity to get a word in. "Toni, _cher_ , thank God you're here. Long story short, there's a guest, he's Gilbert's age, he's _adorable_ and our stubborn prince almost kicked him out. Thankfully, we've convinced him to let him stay until he heals, but we all know that's not long enough to solve our current problem. Sorry to wake you, _mon ami_ , I know how you love your sleep, but I'm pulling out all the stops. We cannot let this opportunity go."

Francis's little speech quietened even Elizaveta. Antonio still seemed a little confused, but nodded, getting the point. " _Si,_ I'll help, of course, but explain later, okay?"

" _D'accord._ "

"Would you idiots stop plotting? I can hear you, you know." All four servants looked over to the bathroom door. "I want him out."

"Gil, _amigo_ , maybe you should think about this a little," suggested Antonio, yawning. "I mean, it would be nice to have some new company, right? Not to mention trying to break the-"

"The curse can't be broken."

Antonio flinched at that. "Don't say that, there are plenty of people who don't judge by appearances. As long as you try to be nice to him, and _smile_ , you'll be fine."

"That's not true, Toni, and we both know it. Don't be a _dummkopf_."

Francis and Arthur both glanced over to Elizaveta, who so far had remained silent, but visible steam was escaping from the gaps her lid didn't quite cover and it was obvious that the quiet wouldn't last much longer.

"Gilbert, please. Give him a chance," pleaded Francis. "He's not like the others. He's a good boy, just get to know him a little."

A scoff. "Like you have? You've known him for an hour or two, Fran. You can't tell me anything yet."

"He's not like Bella," persisted the candelabrum determinedly. "And he's not a thief. He's kind and sweet, and polite too. He'll do you good. He's scared of you, Gilbert, just be nice to him. Give it a shot. Flash him that debonair smile, bring back some of the old charm, and it'll work like a treat."

"He's right, you know," Arthur added, slightly hesitantly. "God knows I had to get rid of enough women and men from your quarters when you were human. Surely it can't be that hard like this. All you have to do is control your temper and be a calmer, politer version of yourself."

Sometimes, Francis wished that Arthur wouldn't try to be helpful.

"No, Francis. Sorry, Arthur. There's no point. I'm sorry. None of you deserve this."

That was the breaking point for Elizaveta. The teapot bubbled and fumed furiously, hopping a few steps forward towards the door. "Listen here, you selfish brat!" she yelled, driving her spout into the door for emphasis so hard Francis worried it might crack. "Damn right, none of us deserve it! And you got us into this mess, so you'll get us the hell out! Matthieu Wiliams is asleep right now in his bedroom, too hurt and tired to stay awake even though he's too scared of you to sleep properly. He is your one chance to lift this curse! You don't deserve to punish yourself like this, Gil, no matter how much you deny it. But if you won't do it for yourself, then do it for _us_! _We_ are the people who've had to stay as... as goddamn _furniture_ for ten years! Your _brother_ , Gil. He'll never know a normal childhood. You only have four months left. And me, I..." She let out a choked noise that no one dared to identify as a sob for fear of her wrath being turned onto them. "I have been engaged for ten and a half years, and I'll never be able to marry the man I love. Not because a boy was upset and made the wrong decision without thinking, but because _you_ are too stubborn to get out here and talk to the only one who can _help_. So if you have a _shred_ of decency left, prove you're not actually as much of a monster as you appear, unlock that damn door, get out here and listen to us!"

Silence.

Arthur and Francis exchanged a wide-eyed glance, both slightly in awe of Elizaveta.

Silence.

Antonio whispered something unintelligible in Spanish, moving closer to the teapot to comfort her, an effort she steadily ignored.

Silence.

Elizaveta stared determinedly at the door, which wasn't budging. _Come on, Gil, come on..._

The hinges squeaked as a massive wall of silver fur, two beads of gleaming red glaring out from inside it, appeared. "So what's the plan?"

* * *

 **Hey guys! Firstly, I'm so sorry this chapter got so late! For those of you who didn't know, I had exams, followed by a trip to Istanbul for a week and Greece for another. It was an awesome holiday, but unfortunately, I didn't get much writing on this story done. I got back two weeks ago, and thing have been equally hectic because we were moving houses and now, they've finally calmed down.**

 **However, I am happy to say that I've started working on some new fanfics and AUs as well. I have so many ideas, so little time... Sadly, the next chapter may take some time because, like I said, I'm working on some new stuff. If you want to get alerted when I publish it, feel free to follow me!**

 **Thank you all for being so patient, and once again I'm so sorry about the delay, and also about the quality of this chapter (I'm a little unhappy with it, because I had some terrible writers' block while working on it and I feel like it's just really boring filler). The real romance and drama will start in Chapter 4 and 5!**

 **See you all then, and once again, feel free to leave a review telling me what you thought, because I absolutely love reading them. Constructive criticism is much appreciated, but please tell me what exactly it is you have a problem with, because otherwise it isn't very helpful. Thank you, and have a lovely day/night!**

 **\- Cass**

 **EDIT: DEAR GOD. SO! MANY! TYPOS! HOLY FUCK I AM A _TERRIBLE_ EDITOR I'M SO SORRY GUYS**


End file.
